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To make matters worse, the opposition never let him relax. Before they fell apart in the season's last few days, the Cleveland Indians got by on pitching alone and almost ran off with the race. Ted Williams came back to baseball and the Boston Red Sox got into the scramble for the lead. In Chicago the White Sox caught fire. Detroit with its hothanded kids—Kaline, Kuenn and Tuttle—was always tough.
Washington, Kansas City, Baltimore—even the second division turned into tartars at embarrassing moments.
But Casey switched and shuffled, wheedled and roared. His line-up was seldom the same two days running. His batting order was always a surprise. His choice of pitchers broke every baseball rule but one —the categorical imperative to win.
Even last week, on that day in Boston when the pennant was grabbed for good, Casey defied convention. Fenway Park, with its short leftfield foul line, has always been tough for left-hand pitchers. In the afternoon, Casey started Lefty Tommy Byrne—and lost. In the nightcap, when Righty Don Larsen was shelled from the mound, Casey turned stubbornly to another southpaw, stocky Whitey Ford, who is not only a left-hander but also a valuable starter, too important to tire in relief. It turned out to be the right move.
Ford held off the Sox, and the Yanks won the big one 3-2. Once more, out of long memory and infinite experience, Casey had shown his club how to play like Yankees—which, this year at least, is better than they really are.
Anarchic Grammar. The work has been trying. At 65, Casey's temper has become frayed. He began the year by drop-kicking a press photographer out of spring training; during the regular season, he raged at the umpires more than usual, erupted from the dugout in a uniform that looked like well-worn pajamas, and even got himself heaved out of a game—something of a record for Stengel as a Yankee manager.
In between times, though, he was still the elder statesman of the national game, a grey-haired philosopher given to anarchic grammar and startling non sequiturs.
When the spirit moved him, he was still the racy raconteur and acrobatic vaudevillian who could have panicked the Palace. He was also the best manager in the majors. But even Casey was hard put to explain how he did it this year.
"I guess the best guy I got is Berra who catches every day and then Mantle." said Casey in pure Stengelese, as he stole a quick look backward over the season. "Skowron maybe, but Skowron played a month only and then he got hurt so he can't count. Rest of our infield is pretty good; hard to pick out the best.